"Дон Пендлтон. Chicago Wipe-Out ("Палач" #8) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Lavallo and Aurielli, not if he can't show up on time for the first haul!"
The choked voice replied, "He's leased fifty trucks for that job, Mr.
Lavallo. I don't believe we could just arbitrarily terminate his contract,
especially if an act of God is the cause of his delay."
"Arbitrary, who the hell said anything about arbitrary? You tell that
guy the contract is tore up, and if he wants an act of God, ask him what he
thinks about a spanner wrench against the side of the head. I ain't holding
still for no smart-ass out-of-town hauler that thinks he can walk all over L
& A. And the same goes for a smart-ass dispatcher that talks about arbitrary
stuff. Don't you forget that."
"Yes sir. I'll tell him to run his fifty leased trucks up his ass, Mr.
Lavallo."
"You do that!" Lavallo punched off the connection and settled into his
chair, puffing with anger.
The side door opened and Rudy Palmer stood there stiffly framed in the
rectangle of light. "The convoy is downstairs, Pete," he announced quietly.
"Let's go home."
"Go on down," Lavallo said. "I gotta take a piss, then I'll be right
with you. Did anybody tell Mrs. Aurielli about Louis?"
"We're trying to locate her," Palmer replied woodenly. "She's usually
in Nassau this time of year."
"If you don't find her there, try that hotel at St. Thomas. She likes
it there, too. Go on, Rudy. I'll be right down."
Palmer backed out and closed the door. Lavallo smiled wryly to himself
and picked up the telephone. A moment later he got his connection and told
it, "Hello, John? This is Pete Lavallo. You know, L & A Trucking. Say, uh,
one of my subcontractors has crapped out on me. You know what I was saying
last week about something big for your campaign fund."
A clipped voice rattled back a brisk response.
Lavallo grinned and said, "Yeah, well that was a drop in the bucket, I
don't even count that. I meant something big . That, uh, kid of yours - John
Junior, is it? Listen, I know where he can pick up long-term leases on fifty
heavy haulers at a fraction of the regular cost."
A delighted response rattled the receiver.
The Lavallo grin widened. He said, "Sure, it's the cheapest way I know
to get into the trucking business. Listen, you send John Junior around in
the morning, eh? We'll see what we can come up with."
Another rattle, then: "Oh, hell, don't mention it, John. What are
friends for if they can't look out for each other, eh?"
Lavallo hung up and studied his fingertips with a smug smile. One man's
ruin always meant another man's gain. And what the hell could the punk from
Rockford possibly mean to Pete Lavallo?
He got into his overcoat and again checked the load in the .45 and
dropped it into a coat pocket, took a quick look about the office, and went
out. He thought again of Aurielli and knew that he would not accept the fact
of Lou's death until he saw him lying there in his coffin, all done up for
planting. Meanwhile hie had to go on. Business details had to be kept tidy.
He touched the grip of the .45 - and yeah, hie had to go on.
Quickly he descended the stairway. The small office building was quiet
and deserted. It mildly irked Lavallo the way the hired help all got up and